


holding the static in my head

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aromantic Peter Lukas, Asexual Peter Lukas, Emotions, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, a sleepy kiss, it's very chaste tho, yes it's fanfic of my girlfriend's fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23924689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: Two servants of The Lonely have a conversation through a closed bathroom door.ie Martin kisses Peter while he thinks he's asleep, but Peter isn'tactuallyasleep, and then they have to confront ~feelings while being awkward as hell. oh, and Martin wears Peter's sweater, because of course he doesSet in klaxic's universe ofi'll be keeping my mind cold, until.and won't have the same effect if you haven't read that one!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	holding the static in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klaxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaxic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i'll be keeping my mind cold, until.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880653) by [klaxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaxic/pseuds/klaxic). 



This is a bad habit. Watching Peter sleep is going to get him nowhere, Martin _knows,_ alright? It’s going to get him nothing except more unresolved feelings and… god, he’s got too many of those to begin with. But he can’t help himself, like this, when he’s laying just this too close to Peter in their shared hotel room bed. So he watches Peter sleep. He tries to convince himself it isn’t too weird. Peter’s slightly parted lips and tousled hair does help in the argument. It helps Martin forget about the insecurity of staring. He lets himself drink in the details, because he can’t stare like this while Peter is awake.

If only he were so bold. If only Peter weren’t so… actually, is timid the right word for _any_ kind of avatar? Martin wonders, and then decides he doesn’t care. Peter won’t make the first move, that’s all, and Martin’s thought about kissing him… a lot, these past few days.

He could kiss him now, and Peter would never know.

He tries to shake that idea, but now he really can’t. It would be so easy. For once in his life, something could be _easy._ He could actually have what he wanted, no fumbling or fussing over the repercussions or the reactions. And Peter’s head was turned just that fraction of an inch away, just prompting Martin to lean over and brush his lips against the hair that looked so soft at his temple. God, and Martin _knows_ it’s a little inappropriate and definitely improper, but it’s just… just that. It’s just that, a kiss to his hair like Martin’s been dying to do to his mouth.

Fuck it. He deserves nice things. And the nice thing now is, apparently, kissing Peter Lukas while he’s still asleep. He’s going to be selfish. God knew everyone else knew how to be. Why shouldn’t he? Just… just now and again. Yeah.

So he takes a breath, and then shifts enough to clear the space between them. There’s not much, anyway– something he’s been so very aware of these past few days– and then he’s there, so close he can feel the warmth from Peter’s body. 

He’s been finding that funny, of late. How _warm_ Peter is. How cold he should be, how cool and damp he imagines the fog and sea should be if it were lying in bed next to him. But Peter isn’t like that. Peter isn’t cold. He’s so very warm, and Martin rests his fingertips against the exposed skin below the man’s wrist. Warm, comforting. Martin doesn’t know if it’s the loneliness in him or the urge to be close to someone or the fact that he’s properly in love with both Jonathan Sims _and_ Peter Lukas right now, but he passes his thumb along the soft skin there, and then leans in to press his lips to Peter’s temple.

He burns hot at the first touch of his mouth to Peter’s hair, and then he decides that, yes, Peter’s hair really is as soft as it looks, smells nice, a mix of the hotel shampoo and general _Peter,_ and Christ, _yes,_ Martin definitely wants to do it again. When Peter is conscious. And he’d rather kiss him proper, feel the warmth of a mouth against his, the way Peter kisses, and how he tastes on his tongue.

Martin’s face is burning when he pulls back. Hell, he can feel the tips of his ears gone red, but that’s alright. There’s no one to see. No one has to kno–

The swell of static comes so loud and fast, it hurts even Martin’s ears. He claps a hand to his head, and then _realizes,_ and starts to panic, just as the air around him displaces, and Peter’s side of the bed is abruptly _empty._

“P– _Peter!”_

Oh fuck. Oh _fuck,_ what had he– what had he done, _why_ had he done that– _this_ was why he couldn’t have nice things, _this_ was why– oh, he is _stupid!_

“Peter. _Peter,_ I’m _sorry.”_ He wants to throw himself into The Lonely now, too, and hopefully get lost before he can find his way back. Maybe. No, he needs to fix this– _how_ does he fix this, betraying the trust of the only person you’ve really had to talk to for the past… months. Martin doesn’t even know how long it’s been, anymore. Time’s barely a construct, and he’s just– Christ, that was wildly inappropriate. “Peter? I don’t know why I did that.” He does know. “Peter, come back. Please? I’m sorry. Peter.” But he’s talking to no one, or if Peter’s _listening,_ he isn’t answering. _Shit._ “Ugh, Peter, _please._ I’m _sorry._ I’m so sorry.”

What else is he supposed to say? _Please come back and forgive me for kissing you while you were asleep?_ God! What the _hell_ was he thinking?! _I didn’t mean it._ But he _did,_ and he’s tired of lying to himself, and he doesn’t want to lie to Peter. He deserves _honesty,_ if about nothing else but this. _I won’t do it again._ He won’t. But he’d like to. But he won’t.

“Peter,” he whispers, and then gives up, groaning as he puts his face in his hands. “Christ.” He won’t be back the rest of the morning, Martin just knows it. Hell, he’ll probably be lucky if he comes back at _all._ No. He will. He has things to do. He won’t let _personal relations_ interfere. Martin thinks. He hopes. “Peter…”

Too late now. So much for a peaceful morning.

He’s got no one to blame but himself, and while the urge to curl back up on his side of the bed– _definitely_ not sprawling across Peter’s still warm, now unoccupied half of the bed– nearly drags him down into the blankets again, he doesn’t let it. He kicks the sheets away and crawls out of bed instead. He’s antsy now, annoyed that he just _cannot_ catch a break on anything. But mostly he’s just angry at himself. And there’s no use wallowing in self-pity. He’s going to take a shower, where he’ll wallow enough, he’s certain, and then he’s going to go downstairs for breakfast. Maybe he’ll smuggle something up as a peace offering for Peter whenever he comes back. _Sorry I kissed you without your permission, here’s a bagel to make up for it._

This would be funny, if it wasn’t just… disastrous. 

He ignores the sweater, where it’s taunting him from the chair next to the bed, and he goes to get that shower.

  
  


He lingers longer than he should, rightfully, but it doesn’t matter. There’s nobody waiting on him. So Martin takes his time, face upturned to the hot water as it does nothing to wash away the heat already lingering there, long after Peter’s gone and vanished from their room. He hopes it will take the tension from the set of his shoulders at least, let him fall back into relaxation like he had been prior to Peter’s exit. He doesn’t think it’ll exactly work, but Martin stalls, anyway.

He is a little more comfortable,he supposes, once he wraps the towel around his waist and cracks the door to let out the steam. That shame’s going to linger until Peter comes back and Martin can properly apologize into something that’s not the silence. He’s spent a fair bit of time thinking about that, too: Peter’s return. Knowing him, he’s going to try and forget the thing ever happened, which would normally suit Martin _just_ fine. But not this time. If he tries to sweep this under the rug, it’s going to end _terribly,_ and he– despite all, despite how all of this had started– Peter’s… Peter’s his only close friend right now. And he’s in love with him, so there’s that, but he’s good at ignoring those kinds of feelings so if he has to shove _that_ under the rug, that’s alright. But he doesn’t want to lose Peter. God, he doesn’t think he can.

But right now, he has a plan. He’s going to get dressed. He’s going to have breakfast. He’s going to go for a walk, get some fresh air, and then, hopefully, by that time, Peter will be back and they– Lonely avatar to Lonely underling– are going to talk. That exactly.

Martin nods to himself, and shoulders the door open to go collect clothes for the day. It’d been sunny out earlier this morning, so as long as the weather hasn’t changed again, it’ll be a nice day for a walk. Maybe even with the sweater… 

He can’t see himself in the mirror, so he can’t see whatever his face looks like. He isn’t sure he wants to know, but he reaches to rub the condensation off the mirror regardless. He stares back at himself, hair still damp and a mess, face still flush from the shower. Then Peter’s face looms behind him in the reflection, and Martin curses aloud, from the shock, and makes a reflexive grab of his towel that is absolutely in no danger of falling anywhere.

“Oh, so sorry.”

He spins around just as the static builds in his head, and he blurts out a response before he can stop himself. “No, Peter, wait!” Peter looks mildly surprised, but not wary, so Martin pushes ahead. He takes a step forward, and the steam feels cool now on his unclothed skin. “I–” Christ, this isn’t how he’d expected this to go. Which is? Probably a good sign? That Peter’s already come back? But now _he_ isn’t ready. All of his plans, out the window. “I just… can you– I need five minutes. Give me five minutes?”

Peter blinks, looking at him like… Martin doesn’t know. It isn’t quite _inspecting,_ not really, but he feels himself start to get hot like all the days he’d used to fluster himself around Jon, when that crush was new and uncontrollable. It _really_ doesn’t help that he's standing here in a _towel._ Assessing, maybe. He thinks Peter’s assessing him. 

“Of course,” he says, and crosses his ankles where he’s perched, sitting on the bed, still in his rumpled pajamas.

Martin sags, finally ungluing himself from the floor. “You’re not… just, don’t go anywhere, alright?” He unzips his bag and starts rummaging for something to slip on quickly. “You’re not going to fade out again. I need to–”

“You should wear the sweater.”

Martin stops immediately, hand stilling against whatever polo shirt he’s just gotten his fingers on. Then he closes his eyes, and counts to five, and says thinly, _“should_ I?”

“You look comfortable in it.”

“I…” He drops the polo, and straightens up. “It is comfortable,” he admits. He knows he shouldn’t, just like the first time, just like every subsequent time, but he turns for the chair and the fabric neatly folded there. “It’s _probably_ the most comfortable thing I own, now, actually. Um.” Why did he say that? He picks it up, alongside his jeans. “Trying not to wear it out, I guess.” And yet he’s trodding back to the bathroom to slip into it again, sans collared shirt since he’s in a hurry. “One sec.”

“Sure.”

Hell, this is a mess. It’s such a mess. He doesn’t know if Peter had heard his initial apology, and he doesn’t know if Peter’s mad or uncomfortable, and he’s wearing Peter’s goddamn silky soft sweater _again._ He tries not to focus on the way it feels on his bare skin. He is utterly failing.

Something else, then. He’s the one to break the silence as he’s still stepping into the jeans. Having a serious conversation through a closed bathroom door is fitting for them, right? With who they are? “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m sorry,” he starts. “I didn’t–” _mean it?_ Yes, he had. “It wasn’t–” _what it seemed like?_ Yes, it was. “I– I shouldn’t have.” There, the truth. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard you.”

“Oh.” His mouth is dry. He licks his lips and stares at the shower curtain, bracing his shoulders back on the wall. “W–Well, I needed… it needed said again. That was inappropriate. I wasn’t thinking, Peter, I– I’m _sorry.”_ He’s properly dressed now, inasmuch as he’s going to get with Peter waiting. And Peter is waiting, but Martin can’t bring himself to open the door to face him. It feels… better, this way. Cowardly, but better.

Peter doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but there is no rush of feeling The Lonely in his mind or over his body, and Martin thinks he’s still there. He hopes he’s still there.

And then: “I… wasn’t aware you felt that way, Martin.”

He blinks, ogling. There’s still water droplets dripping from the showerhead. He’s always been told he’s not subtle. Tim had always… Tim had always teased him relentlessly, about Jon. But that, maybe that tracks. Peter is… _Peter._ “I…” He licks his lips. “Well, yeah. You can’t spend every waking moment with me and then give me sweaters that cost more than my _paycheck_ and then tell me I should wear them, and expect me to not…” He trails off.

“Not?” Peter’s voice supplies from the other side of the door.

“… not have feelings for you,” he mumbles.

“Feelings. _Oh.”_

 _Oh?_ Martin wrinkles his nose. “Where did you think this was going, Peter?? I–” _kissed you._ “You– you _literally_ just said you didn’t know I _felt_ this way!”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“A fi–” He blows out a breath, nearly weak with the whole conversation.

“Must have picked it from some terrible television drama.”

“Do you– do you actually _watch–”_ You know what? He doesn’t want to know right now. “Feelings, Peter,” he says, definitively. It’s almost a relief to say. “I… I… I really enjoy your company,” he admits, too, which is the closest thing he’ll get to saying _I’ve got a crush on you,_ because he is a grown man who can articulate things. Yeah. “And I don’t– I know, we’re _Lonely,_ it’s not the same, but it– it kinda is, anyway. You can be disconnected from everyone else and still be connected to someone.”

“And I’m your… ‘someone,’” Peter tries.

He breaths out again. His heart is racing. “Yes. You kinda are, now.”

“… ah.” 

_Ah?_ What did _that_ mean? Martin bites his cheek, and pushes ahead. “And I’m not saying that as– as… _whatever,_ I’m just saying… that’s why I did it. Even though I shouldn’t have, and won’t again.”

“Why not?”

This is like being slammed into a brick wall. Repeatedly. “What?”

“Why not? I take it you enjoyed it.”

“I…” _yes, God, yes, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about it, I want to do it again, properly–_ he grits his teeth, and forces himself to speak. “Non-consensual kissing isn’t something you should be _encouraging,_ Peter,” he manages. “I took advantage of you–”

“Versus all the times I’ve taken advantage of you, you mean?”

“That’s…” _self-aware._ “… different.”

“How?”

God, how can he sound so patient? “Because I’m doing this by my own choice. I’m here because I want to be. I’m not just doing this for you.” Even though that mattered a great deal to him nowadays, too. “And you didn’t steal me away in the middle of the night to work for The Lonely, so it’s _definitely_ different.”

From the other side of the door, Peter _laughs._ Low and soft, and Martin may lean his shoulder against the door just to be a little closer. Maybe just a little.

“True,” Peter says. And then, after a pause, “I might not have minded, though.”

“… what?”

“I might not have minded,” Peter repeats. “Closeness has previously been… uncomfortable,” he allows, “but I rather enjoy your company, Martin.”

“I…” _what?_ _What?_ Was he asking him to kiss him again? Was that wishful thinking? Was that a _blessing?_ “You… Peter, you _vanished.”_

“You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He says it automatically. And then, because Peter will not be the one to do it, Martin pulls the door open and steps back into their room. Peter’s still sitting on the bed, still sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles and looking contemplative. Martin feels himself blush, but makes himself push forward. “I… do you… _company._ Does that mean–”

Peter cocks his head in question, and waits.

“Does _company_ mean _feelings?”_

“I think I have it on good authority that ‘enjoyment’ is a feeling.”

“Peter.”

“I don’t know, Martin,” he says softly. There’s a _look_ on his face, unplaceable, but… but Martin thinks it’s something like honesty, actually. “I really wouldn’t know.” Vulnerable honesty.

“So… how do we find out?” Martin asks. “How do _we_ find out? Us. _The Lonely.”_

Peter smiles thinly. “You try that again, I’d wager?”

“The kiss?”

“Yes?”

Martin lurches forward a step, and then stops. “Wait. You don’t– you aren’t just _placating_ me, Peter. Because unrequited feelings are a thing. Trust me, I can _handle_ unrequited feelings. I’m an old _pro.”_

“Yes, you _do_ fall in love with the most odd of people, don’t you?” Martin rolls his eyes, and Peter laughs lightly. “Trust me, Martin.”

He does. He _has._ For better or worse. “Then…” He stops hesitating, crossing the few feet to the bed to sit next to him. Then it’s awkward, looking into Peter’s face and his mouth and thinking of _actively_ kissing him, no matter how much he wants to. No, he’s still hesitating. This is _terrible._ They’ve negotiated their first kiss and it’s terrible and Martin feels ridiculous now, and even Peter looks awkward.

“… now it’s just awkward,” he blurts, after a few beats of silence.

Peter looks surprised, and then amused. He seems to relax a little in his position, pressing a hand to the bed. “Is it supposed to be awkward?” He’s almost laughing, Martin thinks.

“I– I don’t know. Like this, maybe?” What is he talking about? He’s not a virgin. He’s definitely _kissed_ people. “Wait, have you never–”

“No.”

“Peter–”

“The _Lonely,_ Martin.”

“Yes, but… you can do stupid things when you’re lonely,” he mutters, and hurries past that. “Christ, Peter. Now there’s even _more_ pressure, this isn’t– this isn’t spontaneous at _all.”_

“Spontaneity isn’t my strong suit,” he admits. “Bit startling, that.”

“True,” Martin murmurs. “So…” Where does that leave them? He lets his eyes fall to Peter’s lips again. Testing the waters, so to speak. When he leans in a fraction of an inch, Peter doesn’t lean back. Static crackles at the edge of his mind. “Um.” They’re sitting close enough he can only place his hand on Peter’s knee, in lieu of placing it anywhere _else_ he won’t dare to think about touching right now. _A thigh, Martin, so risque!_ He’s already breathing harder, and so is Peter.

The static rushes louder, scratching over his skin.

Martin stops. “Peter–”

“Ah, habits. Nevermind me.”

 _“Peter.”_ He’s about to pull back, horrified again, but Peter catches his wrist and holds him in place more by actions than force.

“No, no,” Peter says quickly, “stay like this. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t–” But maybe it’s true. The static isn’t getting louder, and Peter’s eyes slip shut and he almost looks… calm. “… okay. Okay,” he says, cautious but maybe optimistic. “Small steps.” Maybe it’s the… closeness, maybe it’s the kissing. Maybe Martin doesn’t know at all. But this seems to be… okay. Yeah. “You trust me?”

Peter doesn’t reply.

“Peter?”

Static again, making Martin wince, but the fingers at his wrist constrict and maybe… that’s an answer. Or. As much as an avatar can trust anyone, maybe.

“Right,” he says aloud. “I don’t mind this, either,” he continues, and if it’s an understatement, he isn’t treading on Peter’s comfort again and it really is _nice._ They’re almost holding hands, and it’s _nice._

Peter nods once, without opening his eyes.

The static fades to a low buzz, and Martin is very happy like this himself.

**Author's Note:**

> me @ carrie: if an ACTUAL AVATAR of THE LONELY is gonna be intimate in any way with someone, then I - in the nicest way possible - want it to _hurt_ >3c
> 
> but yeah honestly I like the idea that his patron will have None of it so it is very much a struggle physically as much as mentally. also I didn't go into this expecting this outcome but Peter went VERY aroace on me (which is saying something, since my Jon is usually pretty aroace too) and I was like, that's a thing now!! 🙌 
> 
> anyway thank carrie for making me post this XD <3


End file.
